I'm trying to get into writing so would really love to hear your thoughts on this story: both positive and negative. You can get in touch with me at: jacknifty@protonmail.com or by going to my twitter which is: https://twitter.com/JackNifty I'll be posting links to chapters and other materials on there so go check it out.
Disclaimer: This story contains sex between consent adult men, all 18+. Any actors playing the roles of these fictional characters in your mind are also over the age of 18. This story will contain rough sex and interactions that explore dominance and submission as well as many fetishes and kinks. If any of this offends you, or if you are not legally allowed to read this, you should stop now. If you continue then any consequences are your own fault. This is fictional, although aspects may be informed by the real-life experiences of the author. Any similarities or resemblances are purely coincidental.
Then:
Tom, in his role as the head of Human Resources at his father's company, had scheduled a series of interviews, although he seemed less interested in finding a good new personal assistant than he did at getting his dick into beautiful twinks. Much to his shock and dismay, the first candidate, Jordan, rebuffed his advances leaving Tom terribly frustrated. However, his blue balls didn't last long as the next interviewee was more than happy to offer his throat for the young stud to use.
Now:
Finding His Boy: Chapter Three
To say that Jordan was pissed off when he exited the building after walking out of his interview would be a complete and utter understatement. The boy was furious: his heart was pounding and he could practically feel his blood running hot as it coursed through his veins. How dare he?! How dare that man make those sorts of suggestions about the type of boy Jordan was? Worse, what the fuck was he thinking: had he intended to get Jordan to suck his dick, maybe even offer up his virginity to him? What a self-absorbed, arrogant piece of...
A high-pitched sound pieced through Jordan's thoughts: his phone was ringing. Fishing it out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he looked at the caller ID - his mum - and, with that, reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Jordan's family were towards the lower end of the 'working class' and for the last ten years, he'd lived not too far from where Tom's father, David, had grown up. You see, When the boy was only ten-years old, his father decided to leave the family, preferring his mistress and the baby that the two of them had on the way. The man abandoned his wife, leaving her with Jordan and two younger children to raise on her own. Overnight, he cut off all contact and there hadn't been so much as a Christmas or birthday card since. The family didn't have a contact number for the man or even know where he lived. That movement had started Jordan on a spiral down into the poverty from which he was so desperate to escape.
His mother had tried. Despite having very young children, she'd managed to make childcare arrangements with some of her old friends and started work as soon as her youngest was eligible for full-time schooling. They'd scraped by like that for a few years but then tragedy crept up on the family when they least expected it. After months of feeling 'under the weather', Jordan's mother finally managed to get to the doctors for a series of tests: she had cancer. It was incurable and would continue to spread across her body over the next five to ten years. Eventually, it would seize a major organ and that would be it. The family had been living on her disability allowance for the last four years and, truth be told, were really relying on Jordan getting his job. He was too; he knew that it might not be long before the worst happened and, thinking practically, if he didn't have a steady income, there'd be no way social services would let him take custody of his younger siblings to keep the family together.
That's why his heart was way down in the pit of his stomach now: how would he be able to explain what had happened to his mother? He... couldn't. There was no way that he could tell her what he'd just had happen to him. Instead, he'd have to lie and that definitely didn't sit well with him. Fortunately for the young man, the time he'd spent pondering just what to say had been long enough for his mother to hang up, giving Jordan the walk home to think about what he was going to say to her.
As he reached the end of his street, he spotted a figure running down the row of terraced houses. It was his sister - nine-year old Amy - and she was particularly eager to see him and find out how his first interview as a 'real adult' had gone. Despite the feeling in the very depths of his soul, he plastered a smile on his face and allowed her to embrace him in a hug, although the speed of her bounding nearly knocked the poor, skinny boy over onto his bum. He managed to fob her off as he carried on walking towards his front door but given her age, it wasn't particularly challenging to be vague in his answers to her questions. He anticipated his mother being a very different story.
"Go on then," she prompted him as he entered the kitchen, hope clearly etched across her face, "how did it go?"
"I err... I don't think that... that I..." he started, his voice catching in his throat, but she quickly interrupted him.
"Oh darling, that's alright. Don't worry."
That hadn't been what he'd expected. On the hour and a half he'd spent walking home, he had prepared for a battery of questions: what things was he asked? Had he managed to talk about the society? What was the boss like? Now, none of them came. Instead, he his mother just took him into her embrace and told him that everything happens for a reason and not to worry one bit. "You'll find another job, love. This one just wasn't for you."
Jordan wasn't sure what made him feel worse: the worrying about letting the family down or the guilt he now felt for assuming his mother was going to be anything other than supportive of him. Feeling a little emotional, he excused himself and headed up to his room. Well, not his room exactly: the terraced house only had two bedrooms so his mother and sister shared one and he had the share the other with his thirteen-year old brother. Privacy was a luxury in the Adams household and one that they could ill-afford.
Almost immediately upon closing his bedroom door behind him, Jordan began to undress, removing the suit carefully. He'd been fortunate and managed to keep it clean: he'd be able to return it and not be in his overdraft with the bank. One thing that Jordan's childhood had had in abundance was physical activity. There was little else to do so he'd go running every day, cycle when he could borrow someone else's bike and he used to love going swimming in the local lake before they banned it. It had definitely kept him trim and, quietly, he was quite proud of his body. Sure, he was very slim but he was toned with it. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he slowly ran his hand up inside of the shirt and over his six-pack, feeling the muscles tight beneath his skin. As you might expect, this cock began to harden and he slid his hand back and forth over it a few times. His brother was out and that meant a rare pleasure for the boy.
Jordan was a virgin, sure, but his interests were anything but virginal. The young twink had discovered porn whilst at secondary school, as most boys do, but, unlike most boys, Jordan had realised quite quickly that his interests were not strictly... vanilla. Through pornography, he'd explored the fetish world from footplay through to bondage and beyond. Of course, he didn't have his own digital device - even his phone was a basic text and call sim only deal - so over time he'd been forced to print various images that he'd found wherever he could: a friend's house, the backroom at his old Saturday job and, hell, sometimes even at college. He kept them hidden, obviously, but on the rare occasion that he had the room to himself, he'd retrieve them from the back of his underwear drawer and allow his imagination to take him right there into those images.
That's what he needed right now. Today had been stressful, to say the least, and the best way to deal with that was to find some release. Ever cautious, he kicked some of his brother's clothes, which had been discarded on the floor, in front of the door. That way, if anyone did happen to try to come in, the door would get stuck and give him time to hide away the images. He was still wearing the shirt and tie from his suit but his teen cock was sticking out from beneath them and aching for some release so that had to take priority.
Going to his drawer, he pulled out which image he could reach first, not caring which one it was, and moved back to the mirror. He slid the paper in under the frame at the top and sat down in front of it: he could see both the image and himself and he always loved to do that whilst working over his dick. His cock and balls looked good reflected in the mirror. Now, Jordan wasn't particularly big, measuring in just above average but, given the size of his frame, his cock always looked bigger against his body. It was uncut and stuck straight out from his body, a smattering of ginger pubes at the base which Jordan has started to trim and keep tidy despite no-one else getting to see them.
By pure chance, he happened to have picked out one of his favourite images. It was of two men, although they were of differing ages and sizes. They were clearly fucking with the larger, more muscular man behind the slimmer, smaller twink but you couldn't actually see any penetration. For Jordan, one of the reasons that this image was one of his favourites was what the older man was doing to the younger man: he had one arm wrapped around the twink's slender body with his hand around the front of the boy's throat. From the redness on the twink's skin, Jordan had surmised that the muscle stud was squeezing and choking the shorter boy. His other hand was at the edge of the boy's mouth, his fingers pushing the twink's soft red lips open and forcing their way inside. Jordan imagined that the man was forcing him to suck on those thick fingers, perhaps licking them after they'd just been pushed deep into the twink's little hole, which was now busy with the man's cock. You couldn't see the twink's hands; his arms seemed to be pulled behind him and Jordan liked to think that that meant his wrists were bound together. There was no denying it. For Jordan, this image represented a boy being owned by a man - his body, his senses, his very breath - and he loved it.
Now, you'd be forgiven for thinking that Jordan, the short, skinny twink that he is, imagined himself in the role of the boy in the picture but that wasn't exactly true. There were times that he did think of himself that way, of course, but there were just as many times that he imaged having that level of control over another person as well. He genuinely didn't know which side of him was stronger, which fantasy hotter, and so he decided to just enjoy both and not question it. Today, he found himself more drawn to being the boy and as he started to stroke his uncut cock, his mind took him into the fantasy.
"You're mine," the man would say to him, his voice deep and powerful, "I control you. I can do whatever I want with you and you can't stop me." Jordan's hand quickened on his teen dick, working his foreskin up and down over the head which was already wet with precum. In his mind, he struggled against the rope holding his wrists together but there was no possible way that it would come loose. The man was right: he was helpless. "Please," Jordan heard the voice in his head say, "don't hurt me." He could imagine the man sliding his hand up over his abs and taking hold as it reached his neck. Even the thought of that made Jordan's throat feel tighter and he was suddenly very aware of the tie knotted against his Adam's apple. His dick throbbed in his hand and urged him to keep going.
The young twink's eyes shot open and he looked at himself in the mirror: the red, flared head of his cock and the veins moving down the shaft. Precum was leaking profusely, causing his movements to make noise. That didn't matter: Jordan couldn't hold in his moaning and panting although he did bite his bottom lip in order to muffle it as much as possible. He sped up his movements and watched as his spunk-filled balls began to bounce.
In his mind, the older man had reached his second hand up to his hair and was pulling it back, a movement that Jordan mimicked in real life through using his own hand. He moaned out in bliss for a second but ultimate let the hand fall down as he felt his legs begin to shake. He flexed his feet, as he always did as he felt the urge to cum begin to build, tightening his toes and then spreading them out. The muscles in his legs began to spasm and he pulled them in and then back out. The closer he got, the more he lost control over his own body - it had always been that way for him.
At this point in the fantasy, the man was biting his neck when, suddenly, he spun him round. Jordan was face to face with the man controlling him. His orgasm was building and he could almost feel the spunk beginning to travel along inside of him. When he imagined looking at the man, seeing the face of the one in charge, it always sent him over the edge and this time was no different. "I'm gonna cum!" he moaned out to an empty room and cum he did. Thick, creamy spunk shot from his cock, splattering over his shirt and tie, and then reducing down to a dribbling from the head down the length of his shaft. It collected in his pubes there.
Jordan's eye shot open, freaked out by what had just happened. It wasn't the fact that he'd just got cum all over the shirt and tie that still needed to be returned to the store. No, what was sending his mind into a spin was the fact that there, right at the moment of orgasm, the man's face wasn't the one from the picture. It was Mr Cook.
There wasn't time to dwell on this as, the very moment his orgasm finished, his phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognise but he answered it anyway.
"Good afternoon, is that Jordan Adams?" the woman on the other side spoke softly.
Trying to control his breathing so that the fact he was out of breath couldn't be heard, Jordan replied: "It is, yeah. Who is this please?"
"My name's Maria - I'm calling regarding your interview earlier. We'd like to offer you the position."
Jordan, without thinking, immediately replied with: "Definitely not - not a chance."
The woman paused for a second before speaking again: "Yes... I thought that might be your response. Thank you - goodbye." At which point, she hung up.
Jordan put the phone down next to him, absolutely floored by what had just happened: why the hell had he been offered the job? He'd shouted at the boss and walked out. Of course, the guy had deserved it but still... people don't get offers of employment after that. His phone rang again, making him jump. It was another unknown number but a mobile this time so, again, he answered it.
"Hello," he said, more a question than a greeting.
"The salary is 50% more than was advertised," the voice was low and gruff: Jordan recognised it immediately as the man who had interviewed him.
"I..." Jordan began but he was immediately cut off.
"Ok - double the salary. You start on Thursday."
"But..."
"Oh, and don't wear that suit. I've emailed you the details of my tailor: he'd fit you for what you need," Jordan heard the man state very matter-of-factly.
"I can't..."
"You aren't paying." and on that note, the call was ended from the other side, leaving Jordan to wonder exactly what the fuck he'd gotten himself embroiled in now.
Thanks so much for reading this. If you think that this story is worth continuing, if you have any thoughts or if you just fancy a chat about it, please let me know. You can get in touch with me at: jacknifty@protonmail.com or by going to my twitter which is: https://twitter.com/JackNifty